Despise Not Thy Mother
by Glorious Clio
Summary: A motherdaughter fic, showing the relationship between four different parings Andromeda Tonks and Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, Molly and Ginny, Mrs. Granger and Hermione, and Mrs. Lovegood and Luna.
1. Chapter 1

Despise Not Thy Mother

Rated K

AN/Disclaimer; I own nothing. If I was J.K.R., Tonks and Lupin would still be alive, and raising little Teddy. And Lupin would get to teach again. Or something sappy like that. If you don't know their fate, go read Deathly Hallows instead of fanfiction!

This is loosely based on my assumption that Andromeda and Tonks weren't that close until Tonks became pregnant and both their husbands left. Common ground anyone?

o0O0o

Light streamed into her eyes, rousing her from her lonely sleep. She opened them enough to see her mother puttering around her room, putting things away, clearing the night table off, and magicking the breakfast tray to it. The curtains were open, which explained the light.

Nymphadora Tonks Lupin rolled over to her side, away from the windows, and winced when she saw the empty pillow next to her. A pillow that was supposed to have Remus' head on it, attached to the rest of him. But it didn't… he had left her at her parents' for safekeeping….

_Prat_.

"Good morning, Nymphadora," her mother said briskly.

Tonks groaned in response.

"Yes dear, I know you're tired. But you need to eat something."

She sighed, and heaved herself up into a sitting position, doing her best to ignore the empty space to her right. "Morning, Mum."

Andromeda Black Tonks sat on the edge of the bed with a cup of tea and some toast. This had been their routine ever since both their husbands had fled "to protect them." Tonks and Remus had moved in immediately after the ministry fell and Tonks lost her job and found that she was pregnant. It had been hard, but they had been protected by the Fidelius Charm. And then Remus had a 'misplaced chivalry' attack, followed by her father.

"Are you very tired today?"

Tonks shook her head. "No more than usual I guess. Just missing him. Why, is my hair more brown today?"

Andromeda looked her daughter over critically. "No, your ends are still pink. I would have thought since the morning sickness is past you would be a little pinker, but…."

"I know. I'm just tired and lonely."

"You know, your exhaustion makes me wonder if you're not having a metamorphmagus. I remember being so tired…" she trailed off. "I'm getting excited for this child, even if you are depressed."

Tonks knew that the baby was a distraction for her mother, and that it should be for her too. After all, both their husbands were gone. But she hadn't thought about the possibility of a metamorphmagus child… it made sense though, she and Remus were both shape shifters, and lycanthropy is not genetic.

She sighed again. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be depressed. I should be angry- furious! But I can't be. I don't even think I could find it in my heart to yell at him if he walked in right now. I'd probably just trip across the room and fall into his arms, like those silly paper-back novels that Mrs. Weasley reads…" She rubbed her hands over her slightly swollen abdomen.

Andromeda hmmed, and then said, "Well, I could yell at him for you if you like…."

Tonks grinned mischievously, "It'd be nice to have you yelling at someone else for a change.

They chuckled for a moment, and then Andromeda suggested, "Why don't we paint the little alcove between the windows, and put the crib there?"

Tonks looked to where her mother indicated. For some reason, the architect who had designed the house had made a part of the wall jut out, between the two windows. Her bed and night table had been there when she was a small girl. Obviously she now had a double bed on the opposite wall, next to the door. The alcove was now home to a chair. She looked around her room, which was painted Hufflepuff yellow.

"Okay," she replied, brightening. "Can we paint it red?"

Andromeda laughed, "I suppose traditional pink or blue wouldn't do for any child of yours or Remus."

"Of course not. And besides, there's enough yellow in here to convince anyone to be a Hufflepuff. We need to give Gryffindor a chance!"

Her mother laughed again. "Certainly we can paint it red. And I'll dig out the crib you slept in. We'll make a nice cozy nook for the baby. And won't Remus be surprised when he comes home?"

"And Dad- he'll wonder why you didn't insist upon green!"

Andromeda smiled again, though this time it was a forced smile. "Your father would wonder. But I think Remus will appreciate the red. Besides, red and yellow look nice together."

"I'm sure we can incorporate some green and blue pillows somewhere."

"And I'm equally sure that Mrs. Weasley will make you some pink blankets or something, so it's not too Hogwarttian when it comes to the color scheme."

"Yes, we'll need something has to match my hair!" She rested her hands on the baby bulge again.

Chuckling slightly, Andromeda collected the breakfast things and put them back on the tray. She had done her duty and her daughter was cheered. "I'll get some red paint when I go out today, and later we can move the chair out and paint the alcove. But you'd best sleep with me in my room tonight; we can't have you breathing paint fumes. And tomorrow we'll find your old crib and give it a good cleaning."

Tonks was suddenly assaulted by childhood memories- she only slept in her mother's bed when either she was sick or Ted was gone and she missed her father. She made the connection now; she _was _sick over Remus, heart-sick, anyway, and they were both missing Ted Tonks.

"Sounds good, Mum."

o0O0o

Thank you for reading! I wrote a part two where Remus comes home, but I really hate it, so unless I get about fifty reviews begging and pleading for it, I probably won't post it. And as I've never hit more than twenty reviews in my life, it's a safe bet I never will. Anyway, I hope you liked it!

Xx, Midget


	2. Chapter 2

Despise Not Thy Mother

Chapter Two;

Rated K

Disclaimer; See chapter one.

Authors Note; I know I said the second chapter was going to be fluff between Tonks and Lupin, but honestly, it was horrible. I would be embarrassed to post it. So this chapter (as with all my stories written this semester) was written while I was ignoring my history professor; an especially bad habit when you're majoring in the subject. I decided to go with the theme of mothers and daughters finding common ground. I hope this isn't too much of a disappointment to those who wanted RLNT fluff. Those questioning this in their reviews will be laughed at as they didn't read this note. But please review anyway.

o0O0o

"Come along, dear," Molly Weasley said to her ten year old daughter. The scarlet Hogwarts Express had pulled out of view; Ginny was still watching, hiccupping slightly. Molly reached for her hand, but at her mother's touch, she leapt away furiously.

"Why didn't you let me go?!" Her hands flew to her hips, mimicking her mother without even realizing she was doing it.

Molly sighed, "We've been over this, you're too young this year. Next year-"

"But Mum! I want to go _this_ year! Harry Potter is there this year." Ginny whined.

"He's not an attraction to be stared at."

"But everyone is there this year- Ron, and the twins, and Percy! I want to go!"

"Ginny, please. Not here." Molly glanced around, most were gone, and the remaining few families were making their way to the barrier.

"You never let me have any fun!"

"Ginny," her mother said, exasperated, "what makes you think I didn't want to go too?" A short pause followed this revelation.

"You wanted to go back?" Ginny asked, disbelief evident in her voice. "To Hogwarts?"

"Well, yes," Molly said, taken aback at her outburst, and at her daughter's reaction. "You think cleaning up after you and your brothers, cooking for you, yelling at you, is more fun than Hogwarts? Think again."

She hadn't yelled, but Ginny almost wished she had. Mother and daughter stared at each other on the now deserted platform. After a few moments, they came to a silent understanding.

Ginny didn't say another word about Hogwarts, excepting the occasions when there were letters from her brothers. She knew her chance to go to Hogwarts was coming, but didn't want to emphasize the fact that she was leaving her mother to do so. Mother and daughter became closer; they stayed up late talking, teased poor Arthur, cooked together, and Ginny even helped her mother knit Weasley sweaters. She was still excited to begin school, but the year with her mother had been surprisingly wonderful and as much as she hated to admit it, she would almost miss her next year.

Of course, she would never tell her mother that.

Or her brothers.


	3. Chapter 3

Despise Not Thy Mother

Chapter 3;

Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Special thanks to my Betas, chapter 1 was beta-ed by Zaraph, chapters 2, 3 (and 4) by the lovely Matriaya.

o0O0o

"Hermione!" Mrs. Granger called up the stairs to her nine year old daughter's bedroom. "I'm leaving right now!"

"Coming, Mum!" There was a series of bangs, and then, slamming the door behind her, Hermione Granger ran down the stairs, jumping the last two steps.

Mrs. Granger looked her daughter over; she had brushed her teeth, washed her face, and combed her hair (although it didn't really show). Mrs. Granger nodded her satisfaction and said, "Let's go, Hermione."

The pair had little in common. Hermione was shy and quiet, though Mrs. Granger knew she would grow out of it. Mrs. Granger herself was tidy, but she loved to make a mess in her kitchen and her sewing room.

Hermione didn't cook, didn't sew, and rarely cleaned her room, but she shared a passion with her mother; literature. And so it was that every Saturday the women of the Granger household walked to the community library.

Mrs. Granger received many complements from Hermione's teachers; she was quiet, she asked good questions, and she always turned her homework on time. Mr. and Mrs. Granger always praised her intelligence and encouraged her thirst for knowledge.

Truth be told, Hermione had few friends. Oh she had a few, but her shyness was often misconstrued as snobbery. But she was her mother's daughter in this, and she knew Hermione would grow into a confident young woman.

"Mum?" Hermione asked, breaking her mother out of her reverie.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Are you… proud of me?" she asked quietly.

Shocked, Mrs. Granger answered, "Of course, dear. What makes you think I'm not?"

Hermione shrugged and nervously swung the bag that held her library books around. "I'm not very popular."

"You have good friends in Sarah, Elizabeth, and Hilary."

"I guess."

"Being popular isn't everything. Having good loyal friends that you trust is better."

"You have to say that you're my mother."

"Hermione, how many friends do I have?"

She was silent, thinking for a moment. Both women knew the number wasn't much higher than Hermione's. They were halfway to the library.

"I'm not very pretty…."

"Nonsense. You are a very lovely young lady. Your father and I would rather have a bright intelligent girl than a pretty, but empty, flower pot."

"But beauty helps."

"Hermione, where is all of this coming from?"

"I feel like I'm failing you," she said softly.

The secret was out. Mrs. Granger stopped and hugged her daughter close to her. "You could be the homliest, least popular girl in the world, and failing all of your classes, and I would still be the proudest mother in the world. You are smart and funny and loyal and brave. And you are my library friend." She released her iron grip on the girl.

"Thanks, Mum," Hermione mumbled, slightly embarrassed. They resumed their journey.

"Don't mention it. When I was your age, I had the same fears."

"Really? How did you get over them?"

"When I grew up a little more, I got more confidence in myself. Never underestimate yourself, Hermione. You are very important."

"Thanks Mum. But are you sure you're not just saying that?"

"I'm sure."

They had arrived at the library.


	4. Chapter 4

Despise Not thy Mother

Chapter 4;

Disclaimer, see Chapter 1

Author's note; This was the hardest chapter to write. Please let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is especially welcome, since I may rewrite it later. Thank you for sticking with me until the end!

o0O0o

Nine year old Luna Lovegood sad in her bedroom, gazing out the window. Her mother had died three days ago, the funeral was yesterday. Family that she hadn't seen in a very long time, neighbors that she had never met, and most comforting, old friends of her parents, all came from far away to celebrate her mother's life and mourn her death. But now, Luna was pensive, going over her memories.

"_That one looks like a unicorn."_

"_No it doesn't, Mum."_

"_Yes it does, see the horn?"_

"_Mum, it looks like a cloud."_

_She indicated with her finger, "No wait, there's the horn. And it's rearing up on its back legs."_

"_Mum, it's missing the legs it's supposed to be rearing up on!"_

"_So put them there."_

"_But then it could be anything!"_

"_Exactly." _

A cloud floated past her window, bringing her back from her memory. Luna always looked up to her mother, despite the fact that Luna did not share her vivid imagination. Luna needed _proof_.

But she was finding that she was changing her views. Instead of her mother's death effectively killing her imagination, it actually broadened it. After all, where could her mother have gone? Luna knew she wasn't coming back, but would she join her one day? Could her mother see her now?

Most importantly, did she know how much her daughter missed her?

Luna had been with her mother when she died. It had been horrible, and her father was out of the house, down at the stream, fishing. Mrs. Lovegood had a passion for inventing spells. Luna never really understood why- but it seemed to her now that she wanted to discover something that she could prove to her daughter. Of course, she had managed it in the end, just not in the way either of them had expected. Luna was now flooded with imagination and light and color- so much that her eyes hurt, as well as her head, but most of all, her heart. She would have traded it all for one more day with her mother, though she knew it was impossible.

The light was a winter's light- it looked warm and welcoming, but it was deceptive. The light that filled her was cold. Regardless, it filled her with a sense of hope. And a desire to imagine and create and discover herself.


End file.
